by Skylar Finn
The cat lowered its paw. It looked at Tamsin. It seemed pleased. “Can you understand me?” she asked, sounding appalled. The cat turned back to me, favoring me with a final, assessing expression before leaping off the bed and up to the windowsill in a single fluid movement.
“Wait!” I called. It turned and looked back at me. “Where are you going?” I asked. The cat turned away and leapt out the window. I could hear the sound of claws on a branch, and then nothing at all.
“What are you doing?” Tamsin looked at me like I was crazy. “That could have been Lindy, astral projecting herself into a cat body and spying on us!”
“I’m sorry, okay?” I said, a little sulky. “It’s just that…”
“Just that what?” Tamsin stared at me.
“I always wanted a cat,” I said.
At breakfast the next morning, Tamsin regaled Minerva and Aurora with the tale of the mysterious cat’s sudden and inexplicable appearance in her room. My mother, who liked to sleep late on Sundays—and in general—had yet to wake up.
“And Sam,” she concluded her story, “wanted to keep it. As a pet.”
“I just thought maybe it would be nice,” I said defensively. “If she—or he—came back to the city with us and maybe lived with me. That’s all.”
My grandmother laughed. “Oh, Samantha, how clichéd can you be? A cat. Honestly.” I was deeply offended to see Minerva chortling right along with her.
“What’s so funny?” I demanded. “Why can’t I have a cat, if I want one?”
“Oh Sam, we’re sorry,” said Minerva, wiping her eyes.
“I’m not,” said Aurora.
“This business of witches keeping cats is really such a cliché,” explained Minerva. “If you’re going to have a pet, either for company or to assist you in your daily life, it’s best to have a dog. They’re blindly loyal, obedient to the point of stupidity. They’re so much easier to work with. They’ll follow orders unquestioningly, rather than being temperamental and finicky.”
“Assist you?” I asked. “You mean, like a familiar?” Tamsin had once vaguely mentioned the concept of familiars to me, but hadn’t gone into any depth.
Minerva shuddered. “Heavens, no. Only practitioners of dark magic would ever employ an animal to do their bidding; or more to the point, a dark spirit in an animal’s body.”
“We’re witches of light,” said Aurora. “We don’t employ other beings into our service.”
Tamsin shook her head. “You should have seen that thing. It seemed like it understood what I was saying, then it hissed at me. Like an angry goose. I thought it was going to bite my face off.”
“He wouldn’t do that,” I protested. I had, for whatever reason, determined it seemed like a he. “He was probably just offended when you suggested he was up to no good.”
Minerva studied me. “Maybe it was a messenger, sent specifically to Sam,” she suggested. “It sounds as though it chose her. Perhaps someone is trying to communicate with her.”
“Before Tamsin scared my envoy away,” I said brattily.
“I didn’t know! How was I supposed to know it was a harbinger? It just looked like a big, ugly, mean cat to me.”
“Who’s an ugly, mean cat?” asked my mother sleepily as she wandered into the kitchen.
“Sam’s new pet,” said Tamsin. “It’s either a dark spy or a messenger.”
“Can’t a cat just be a cat?” I asked in despair.
“Possibly,” said my mother thoughtfully. She glanced around. “Though to be honest, Sam, in this house, I have to tell you: it’s highly unlikely.”
Minerva cooked us an enormous breakfast before we left. She packed the leftovers in plastic containers for us to take home. Tamsin, who found her school meal plan’s offerings less than desirable, looked visibly relieved.
I looked around hopefully as we walked out of the house. The cat was nowhere to be seen.
“Maybe he’ll return in the night while you’re sleeping and eat Peter,” said Tamsin. “Maybe you’ll see his true colors then.”
“Tamsin!” I shook my head as we got in the car. “I don’t see why you’re so against cats. I find that really surprising.”
“Not every witch is a walking cliché,” said Tamsin, sliding her sunglasses on.
Our mothers descended on our respective windows before we left. After bestowing us with various precautions about how to fortify ourselves against black magic when we returned to the city, we were finally permitted to leave. From her tomato garden, Aurora gave an indifferent sort of wave.
“Why can’t they be more like Grandma?” Tamsin sighed.
“They just miss us, is all.” I rolled up my window.
Tamsin nodded. She seemed better off than when we’d arrived. Nonetheless, when we crossed the bridge and passed the sign that said NOW LEAVING MOUNT HAZEL, I could hear her give an audible sigh of relief.
I dropped Tamsin off in front of her dorm and went by my apartment to drop off my things before I returned the rental car. I texted Peter when we left Mount Hazel but hadn’t heard back. I assumed that either he was deep in his sea turtle documentary or still asleep. He liked to sleep in on Sundays, especially if I wasn’t there to hassle him about brunch.
Our trip home had raised more questions than it answered. I ticked them off in my mind as I left the lot and walked to the nearby SEPTA stop. Number one, who was Lindy, and what did she want? Number two, what was the source of the mysterious light in Cameron’s shop? Was it part of the power dwelling near us in the city? Number three, what was the power, and was it sinister? Number four, who was taking the missing girls? Number five, was it the same person collecting hearts? And number six, were the two darkly magical in nature—or just further evidence of the deteriorating human condition?
I boarded the bus and swiped my pass. The route went past Peter’s, and I glanced out the window as we went by the building. I saw Peter walk into the coffee shop as someone behind me pulled the cord, which emitted a mild ding! The bus screeched to a stop on the corner and on impulse, I disembarked. I’d never just run into Peter; technology had conspired to keep us perfectly coordinated, without spontaneity or coincidence.
I opened the front door to the coffee shop and was met with the sound of grinding beans and some uber hip playlist cycling through borderline unlistenable EDM remixes of 90s pop songs. In addition to the assault on my ears was a pure assault on my sight: the sight of Peter, hugging Amelia.
It was just like my vision in the cards. It had come true.
13
The End of Time
It was my worst nightmare come true. I’d tried to dismiss the cards as a bad trick on the part of a dangerous stranger, but here was the incontrovertible proof, staring me in the face. It was the first card I saw in the Could Be row: not verbatim, but close enough. Peter hugged Amelia in the middle of the café and I felt my world come crashing down around my ears.
I stood, stunned, in front of the window. For a second, I hoped I was still in Mount Hazel, asleep on a trundle bed and having a nightmare. But I knew that it was real, I was awake, and this was my reality. Before I could turn and run down the street, away from the carnage of what I’d previously mistaken for happiness, Peter looked up and saw me through the window. His mouth formed my name, his expression one of surprise. I guess that made two of us.
The only thing worse than knowing my greatest fear had come to pass was having to withstand the accompanying immediate humiliation. I turned away and rushed up the sidewalk, focused only on getting as far away as I could get. I heard Peter call my name somewhere behind me, but I didn’t stop. I had nothing in mind but the thought of getting away. It wasn’t until I reached a busy crosswalk and became trapped on his side of the street that he caught up with me.
“Sam! Wait!”
I stood in the crush of bodies waiting to rush across the street, unable to move. I felt his hand on my shoulder and tensed up. “Sam, it’s not what you think,” he said in a low voice near my
ear.
“What am I supposed to think?” I sounded more helpless and sad than angry and self-righteous. I hated how pitiful I felt.
“Not the wrong thing,” he said firmly, gently turning me around to face him in the street. He looked me right in the eye. “It was her last few days of work. She hugged me good-bye because she just got a job offer in her field, and she was excited. I was excited for her, because I know how it feels when you get to leave your job slinging coffee for your dream job. I can see how it would be subject to misinterpretation, but Sam—if you trust me, you shouldn’t have to feel worried about it. And I promise, you can trust me. Do you?”
I opened my mouth and closed it soundlessly a few times. Did I trust Peter? How much of my bad feeling was actual fear he might hurt me, and how much was just the automatic reflex of jealousy I’d grown accustomed to while dating a philandering liar? How much of it was the post-hypnotic suggestion imposed on me by Lindy?
“Of course I trust you,” I heard myself say. I couldn’t make myself believe it one hundred percent, but I wanted to.
“Then believe me,” he said.
“I believe you,” I said.
“I’m on my way to meet the guy working the missing girls case, but I want to talk about this,” he said. “Can we meet later?”
“Sure,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’ll be around.”
He looked at me intently, as if searching to root out any remaining uncertainty, and I tried to look as optimistic as possible. He gave my shoulders a squeeze and then went down the street, disappearing into the crowd.
Maybe it had been perfectly innocuous. I wanted to believe it. But even if it had, it was chillingly close to my original vision. Which meant that Peter could still be in danger.
My first thought was to find Tamsin, who wasn’t answering her phone. It was unlike her; she usually had it glued to her hand. I tried to dismiss my worry and paranoia as the result of still feeling shaky over seeing Peter with Amelia. She probably went back to bed as soon as she got up to her dorm.
My next thought was to go to Cameron’s. The whole way, my thoughts circled between my hurt and insecurity, and the certainty that if I had a job, none of this would be making me nearly as insane. I had savings, sure, but it wouldn’t last forever and I didn’t have some indefinite time frame to figure out what to do next.
Compounding my discomfort was the early onset of summer, which brought with it uncomfortably high temperatures and humidity. It had been pleasantly cool in the evening and morning in Mount Hazel, and tolerably sunny when we had arrived, but the city was a different story altogether. I felt like I was sweating buckets as I walked.
I tried to form a plan, a list as I walked so I could feel in control: find a job, stop stressing over Peter, avoid Lindy, don’t get kidnapped and murdered. It was a simple list, but it already made me feel better.
By the time I got to Cameron’s store, I was drenched in sweat. He took one look at me and shuffled through the spinning racks to find me something else to wear. “I’ll put it on your tab,” he said, handing me an airy-looking sundress.
The shop was normally busy on Sundays, but the heat had kept many of his regulars at home hugging their air conditioners. There were a few passive browsers, but for the most part the store was quiet.
“What happened?” Cameron asked when I emerged. “You look like someone ran over your dog. Assuming you had one.”
I told him what I saw at the coffee shop. Cameron was sympathetic, but resolved.
“Peter’s just not the type,” he said dismissively. “Some people aren’t. The idea of it is repulsive to them. Cheaters like the thrill of it, they like the risk of getting caught. They’re amoral, they like to gamble. That’s not Peter.”
“I know,” I said, subdued. “It was just…”
“Your greatest fear,” Cameron supplied.
“Yes, exactly.” I was relieved I didn’t have to say anything else.
“Look, you’re meeting Peter later, right?” he asked. “Come by when I close up the shop and we’ll have a glass of wine. You can unwind a little bit and feel less confrontational.”
“Thanks.” I smiled gratefully. “I’ll be back later.”
I didn’t tell Cameron, but I had an agenda: something to do in the meantime while I waited. I knew I shouldn’t, but curiosity overwhelmed me. I had to talk to Lindy again.
I knew what Tamsin and basically everyone in my family would say, but she hadn’t actually done anything. Truth be told, I found it highly unlikely that she had anything to do with either the missing girls or the hearts. She didn’t even have powers; she just manipulated me into using my own. And she probably weighed about ninety pounds soaking wet.
How dangerous could she be?
I glanced around the narrow side street that held the deli and Lindy’s apartment, or at least what she claimed was her apartment. The gate was unlatched, and I let myself in, slipping surreptitiously up the stairs. I planned to peer through the window, but the blinds were drawn. I knocked on the door, lightly then louder. No answer. I tried the knob. Locked.
I looked around to see if there were any potential witnesses. The apartment faced only a blind alley with no one in it. I gave the window an experimental shove, and after sticking briefly in the humidity, it slowly rose with a stuttering creak. I climbed over the sill, pushing the blinds out of my way, and lowered myself onto the floor below.
In the eerie stillness of the room, the colossal stupidity of what I was doing caught up to me. What if she was here, but hadn’t answered the door? Either she’d find me sneaking in like I planned to rob her, or she was just lying in wait for me to do something this stupid. I got to my feet, dusting off my knees. I looked around.
The room was empty.
No boxes, no milk crates. Nothing. It was as if she never existed.
I went down the hallway. There was only one other room, and it held the boxes I’d seen the last time I was there, perfectly and neatly organized. Almost as if she had simply snuck into the place just as I had and dragged them to the front room so she could pretend she was moving in. There was no bathroom or kitchen. It wasn’t even an apartment.
This spooked me more than anything, and I practically ran down the hall. I climbed out the window as quickly as I came in and shut it behind me. I ran down the steps and out the gate. The deli appeared to be closed on Sundays, and I was relieved. The space probably belonged to them, and I didn’t feel like going to jail.
By the time I got back to Cameron’s, the sun had, mercifully, began to set and the city was bathed in a soft golden light. My concerns over Peter had been replaced by my stark fear of Lindy, the sight of the empty “apartment” having finally confirmed what everyone had told me all along: she was a fraud and a threat to me, and the insecurity that drove me to her in the first place was exactly what she wanted.
I felt frustrated that I couldn’t share the revelation with Cameron, who knew nothing of Lindy or magic and would have to be kept in the dark. I still couldn’t get ahold of Tamsin, which was starting to worry me. Knowing Tamsin, it was entirely possible that she was still asleep with her ringer off, but with everything that had been happening, I would have liked to know where she was.
There was a light on in the window of the otherwise dark shop when I reached the front door. It was nothing like the mysterious light Tamsin and I had seen; just a normal, pleasant glow. I tapped lightly on the glass and Cameron unlocked the door for me.
“Slow day,” he sighed. “Unspeakably dull. Are you feeling better?”
“Kind of,” I said honestly. I felt better about Peter; worse about Lindy’s intentions.
“‘Kind of’ is a start.” Cameron bustled around, straightening clothes on their racks. I started mirroring his actions, just to have something to do. Maybe I could work here.
“Have you talked to Tamsin recently?” I asked. “We got back this morning, but she’s not answering her phone.”
Cameron paused. “Nooooo…�
�� He trailed off.
“What?” I demanded. “What is it?”
“Well, if Tamsin’s not answering her phone, and you don’t know why…” He shrugged. “I mean, she could just be getting up to some college hijinks. Or she could, perhaps, be with someone you don’t approve of who she doesn’t want to admit to being with? You know?”
Cristo. Of course. Who else could distract Tamsin so thoroughly from even glancing at her phone? Even if she had, she certainly wouldn’t want me to know she was with him, knowing what I thought of the man. Easier not to have to lie by not answering at all.
“Do you think she’s okay?” I asked.
“I think he’s a huge phony, but probably not Hannibal Lecter, if that’s what you’re imagining.” He resumed straightening the clothes on their hangers. “Tamsin is a headstrong girl. I think she can hold her own.”
“He just reminds me of a giant bat,” I said. “Flapping around, dressed in black. Spouting pretentious elegies about art.”
“We’ve all had our slips regarding our taste in men,” said Cameron sagely. “Neither of us are in any position to judge.” He went around behind the counter and pulled out a bottle of wine. “For emergencies,” he said with a little wink. “I don’t have any glasses, so we’ll just have to make do.”
Four hours and two bottles later, I’d largely forgotten my troubles. Peter had texted me halfway through the first to ask if we could meet tomorrow; something happened with the story and he’d tell me when he saw me. It was a perfectly reasonable request, just as his explanation earlier had been a perfectly reasonable one. But I still wanted to throw my phone against the wall.
Instead, I typed a polite acquiescence. Then I turned off my phone and drank in earnest. My recent unemployment and adventures with Cameron had made me something of a lush, and I added stop drinking to my mental list followed by the caveat tomorrow. Cameron, who was quite sloppy himself, had tied a silk tie around his forehead and was now vaping from his long, imitation-ivory device.
